


Decadence; Or, Five Times Hux Tempted Kylo Ren and One Time Ren Tempted Him

by Camellia Cook (thekurosakiconundrum)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Also the Regular Kind, Ascetic Kylo, Cooking Hux, Dancing, Dangerous Shaving, Diplomatic Incedents, Evil Overlords Eating Desserts, Except with more discussion of war crimes than is typical for romantic comedies, Falling In Love, First Time, Food Porn, Hux Makes Carbonara 2k18, Indecent Tailoring, Learning to Work Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Queer Eye For The Also Queer But Sartorially Challenged Supreme Leader Guy, Romantic Comedy, Soft Kylux, Space Burlesque, Sparring, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, The Many Vices of General Armitage Hux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekurosakiconundrum/pseuds/Camellia%20Cook
Summary: Hux is horrified to learn the depths of the new Supreme Leader's asceticism, and so he personally sets out to convince him that there's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself from time to time--for the greater good of the First Order, of course. A little pleasure might go some way towards decreasing Ren's famous volatility, after all.Notthatkind of pleasure, though. This isn't a seduction.(Yes, it is, but Hux is the one being seduced.)





	1. Prologue: Moral Grounds, or An Appalled Realization

“No,” Ren said impassively.“I will not. Go yourself, or pick someone to send.”

Hux glared at him. “They want the Supreme Leader. No one else will do, they say.” _For some damned stupid reason._

“Their loss, then. We don’t need them.”

“No, we don’t, but we also don’t want the Rotunantan Confederacy upset with us for a pointless diplomatic snub. You are making this far harder than it needs to be. Go, let them wine and dine you for a few hours! Surely it won’t be the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

Hux knew he was pushing it, but generally Ren didn’t mind his cheek as much in private, and anyway, this was important.

“I don’t drink, and I don’t eat for pleasure,” Ren answered haughtily. “The Rotunantan are famous for their wine and food. I believe that decadence breeds decay, while the Rotunatan drown themselves in it and think everyone else should do the same.”

“You’re…” Hux floundered, grasping for the right expression. It wasn’t one he had call to use often. “Objecting to the meeting on _moral grounds?”_

“Yes.”

“And what do you mean you don’t eat for pleasure? It’s all nourishment, even though some of it tastes better.” Hux groused, unable to stop himself. “You mean to tell me that you purposely pick food that tastes worse?” 

“Pleasure weakens one’s grip on the Dark side.”

Hux’s eyes went wide. He suddenly had a horrible suspicion. “You don’t indulge in anything, ever? You actively avoid things that feel good?”

“Yes, except for the wielding of the Force.”

Well, fuck. That explained _so_ much. “This was Snoke’s teaching?”

“Yes. And I’d advise you not to comment on it any further.”

Hux bowed, knowing he’d gotten as much as he would get, and then turned and left. The matter was closed, and he’d turn it back over to Ambassador Kirill, who could hopefully find some sort of solution.

Some kind of solution for the diplomatic crisis, that was. He would not be able to find a solution for Ren, who had to be due to physically explode any day now. No man, Knight of Ren or not, could survive going through life without ever enjoying himself. It just wasn’t possible, or at least not for any but the most naturally placid sort of personality, which Kylo Ren certainly wasn’t. For his own part, Hux couldn’t imagine what life would be like without its myriad small indulgences, its moments of pleasure.

Hux was not a particularly self-indulgent man, as a rule, but he brewed his own caf by hand every morning, the real stuff that he imported specially, and kept a decanter of thirty-year-aged Corellian brandy in his rooms. He had a stash of Celathic cigarras to smoke when he wanted to take the edge off and a silk robe to smoke them in. He knew that when that wasn’t enough, when his back and jaw ached with tension and his temper was frayed to the snapping point, he could recruit a strapping trooper or three to fuck him into blessed oblivion.

Alright, so maybe he was a little self-indulgent.

But the thing was, it never got in the way of his work. It was what _allowed him_ to work all those sixteen hour days. He could never get through it otherwise, he’d have snapped long ago and… and killed a few of his men… smashed up the bridge…

In short, he would have behaved like Ren.

Rage, Hux realized, was Ren’s only indulgence. Hux knew how good it felt to give in to anger, to let that primitive urge to make someone hurt swallow up whatever pain had provoked it. Ren was unused to pleasure, and so must find it even headier. No wonder he couldn’t control his anger—he was too busy controlling everything else.

Hux didn’t know anything about the Force, but this whole thing sounded like bantha-shit to him. It was supposed to be a life energy, right? And the Dark side governed or represented or whatever the darker impulses in life? Its ravenous hungers, its unquenchable lusts? The hunt, the kill, the slaking of need? Surely there was a place for pleasure in that. If not, what in all nine Sith Hells was the point of the Dark Side? You may as well be Jedi if you had to be an ascetic either way. No, surely that wasn’t how it worked.

If he could come to this conclusion, though, couldn’t Ren? He wasn’t stupid, for all his childish behavior. Couldn’t he see that this business of complete self-denial had been a ploy by Snoke to keep him weak, keep him unstable? Keep him mired in guilt for every time he slipped up? To keep him alienated from so much of human life?

And Ren, a man with more sense for drama than common sense, had bought it hook, line and sinker. Of course he had. He had to be a man apart—not even a man, rather an instrument of the Force. He’d fallen for that old line, beloved of religious cranks everywhere, that the body was something base, to be abnegated and ignored. That suffering was pure, and pleasure corrupt.

Snoke had probably told him that existing in a state of constant deprivation would nourish the rage that fueled his power, but Hux knew from personal experience that that wasn’t how it worked. He lived his life, had a good time when he could, but that didn’t change the fact that way down deep at the core of his being was a bottomless well of seething, defiant anger. Hux collected slights like other men collected coins or magazines, drawing on them whenever his resolve began to waver.

Ren’s rage would still be there, too, where he could call on it at will. It just wouldn’t be so close to the surface, Hux hoped, if he learned to enjoy things now and then. If he learned to relax, just a little. What did he even do when he wasn’t around, anyway? Spend his time in study and meditation? Hux had known him for years, but he still had no idea. He imagined his life, the possible increase in peace and order, if Ren managed to calm the kriff down. If he was, just maybe, getting laid regularly. A discreetly-kept concubine was hardly the worst thing a man in his position could have.

Hux considered not interfering and allowing that particular time bomb to keep on ticking, but he didn’t dare risk it. Ren might self-destruct, thus removing himself from Hux’s presence entirely, and that would be great. But on the other hand, he might well take Hux with him or do more damage to the Order than he already had. No, that wouldn’t do. For now, he was going to have to get the Supreme Leader to loosen up, for the greater good of the First Order.

Armitage Hux, agent of temptation, reporting for duty.


	2. 01. The Pleasures of the Table, or Come to the Dark Side, We Have Cookies.

Hux stood at the side table in his office, carefully pouring just-short-of-boiling water over a double portion of his jealously guarded, freshly ground caf pods. There was, of course, caf available in the officers’ mess, but it was merely a high-grade synthetic. Acceptable in a pinch, if one needed an energy boost but not quite badly enough to reach for a stim, but too bitter and false-tasting to be remotely palatable without such a high quantity of cream that the caf was no longer hot by the time you’d added enough.

The afternoon caf break was never meant for such a utilitarian beverage—combating late-afternoon sleepiness was not its sole purpose. No, it was meant to be a moment of enjoyment, a brief chance to relax before beginning the last and most unpleasant (for being last) portion of the day’s work. Hux often worked late into the night-cycle, so that didn’t entirely apply, but the principle remained. Such rituals were, to Hux’s way of thinking, one of the hallmarks of civilization.

As he slowly and carefully poured the water from the long neck of the kettle, making neat circular motions with his wrist to assure even brewing, he contemplated his strategy for the upcoming offensive. Today was the first day of what he’d dubbed, in a rare moment of whimsy, ‘Operation Ren and Relaxation.’ The success of this first engagement was critical to the success of the campaign as a whole. He checked the time—1445. He had to hurry if he didn’t want to be late.

When he finished pouring the water for the caf, he left it alone to finish dripping and went to retrieve the plate of cookies he’d baked last night and placed them in the warming unit for a short time. He’d found, as he had prepared these, that it was surprisingly enjoyable to dust off his culinary skills after years of not needing them at all. He’d been worried that he’d lost the ability, but spending one’s early childhood underfoot in a kitchen was apparently formative enough that no amount of time away from anything more complicated than a warming unit would entirely rid him of his sense for how to combine ingredients.

There were several kitchens aboard the newly-constructed flagship _Dominion,_ and Hux had chosen the smallest one, the one where meals for high-ranking officers like himself were prepared. It was, of course, still far too large for his purposes, but that was of no consequence. It had been empty at 0100 last night, and that was all that mattered. His presence there will have been noted, but that was fine. He wasn’t forbidden from cooking, after all; it was only that he didn’t wish to have to explain himself to anyone.

The end result of this late-night foray was a tray of quite passable freshly baked _snafaleedle_ cookies. The recipe was a simple one, but it produced soft, rich, buttery cookies with a delicately crunchy spiced sugar crust. They were, in Hux’s opinion, nearly impossible not to like. They were a bit sweeter than he usually preferred as a snack with his caf, but Ren’s uneducated palate would be like a child’s—sugar was clearly called for, if he wanted to win him over.

Hux set the caf dripper aside and placed the decanter on a small tray, along with a pitcher of genuine blue cream and the plate of now-warm and fragrant spiced cookies. Along with this, he placed two cups, a pair of small spoons, and a few napkins. Grimacing slightly at the absurdity of a general playing the role of a waiter, he set off to his meeting with the Supreme Leader.

It wasn’t far from his office to Ren’s, so he had hoped he wouldn’t run into anyone on the way there. But alas, Unamo was passing through the corridor at that very moment. She looked at him curiously, brows drawn together in puzzlement, but didn’t dare ask him what he was doing. He resisted the urge to explain himself or give some an with some difficulty.

He made it to Ren’s office otherwise unmolested, entering the antechamber. The senior clerk who’d had both the honor and misfortune of becoming Ren’s secretary greeted him by rising and saluting, which made him feel a little silly in his current circumstances. The man pressed the button for the intercom and informed Ren of his arrival, at which point the heavy, non-automated door to the inner office swung open, seemingly of its own accord.

Hux resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Ren’s theatrics and went inside. The office was richly appointed, obviously designed by someone other than Ren, but just as obviously designed for him. The floor was black marble, shot through with white and gold (an absurd thing to have aboard a spaceship, but here they were,) and the walls were paneled with some dark wood, glossed to a shining purple-brown.

Vader’s helmet rested in its case in one corner, a model of the _Dominion_ in a matching case in another. Behind Ren and slightly to either side, a pair of huge black and red banners bore the First Order’s emblem, and on the wall to his right, a holoscreen projected a map of the galaxy, the First order’s territory shaded in solid red and their sphere of influence in red lines. In the center of it all was Ren, black-clad and grim-faced and frankly rather tired-looking, not looking up from his datapad just yet because he was an asshole.

Hux waited just inside the doorway, more exasperated at Ren’s antics than truly angry at being ignored. No power move was too obvious for _their_ Supreme Leader, and Hux was on the receiving end of this one quite often. It was completely ineffective exactly because it was so transparent, as Ren’s attempts at command, at dominance of any kind, so often were. Shows of force came to him naturally enough, but anything more subtle, even if it was a trick that could work in the right hands, like this one, was completely undermined by Ren’s shoddy execution.

After about a minute, Ren looked up, eyes narrowing as he took in Hux’s unusual set of accoutrements. He raised one eyebrow, looking amused, and said, “Finally come to poison me, General?”

“Of course not,” Hux replied, somewhat stiffly. Ren joked about Hux assassinating him from time to time, and he never quite knew how to respond. “I merely thought that since I customarily take a cup of caf at this time, you might like one as well.”

Ren rubbed a hand over his eyes, and Hux noted the deep dark circles there. He hadn’t been sleeping, it seemed. Apparently, being Supreme Leader was harder than he’d thought it would be— _good._

“I would, actually,” Ren admitted, gesturing for Hux to set the tray down on his imposing black-stained wood and brass desk.

He did so, picking the cups up by their saucers and setting one in front of Ren and the other in front of the chair he always occupied on these visits. He poured the caf neatly and carefully, then added some cream to his own.

“Is that actual fresh cream, General?” Ren asked, peering down at it. “It looks like it—the synthetic never gets the color or consistency quite right.

Hux began to answer, but Ren didn’t wait for him to finish before sticking his finger into the little pitcher and bringing it to his mouth, licking the cream away with a catlike flick of his tongue. _Disgusting,_ Hux thought, but he was pleased when he saw Ren’s lips quirk up just slightly, his face attempting a smile against his will. His plan was going swimmingly thus far.

Ren hesitated, his hand hovering indecisively in midair for a moment, then took up the pitcher and added some of the cream to his own cup. Hux watched as he took a sip of the drink, made a small, pleased noise, and then took another, deeper pull, his long throat working as he swallowed.

Hux looked away, stirring his own caf with a tiny spoon.

“This is… good,” Ren said. Hux did his best to ignore the small flush of pleasure he felt at the compliment to his caf-making skills. “It’s not just the cream—is this real caf? Not synthetic?”

“Yes—I can’t abide that stuff,” Hux explained. “I’m rather picky about my caf, so I brew my own.”

“Of course you do. And those?” Ren pointed to the cookies.

“I made them. It’s a hobby of mine,” Hux said, half-lying. He didn’t feel like getting into his history just now.

Ren blinked at him, eyebrows raised. His voice sounded oddly hesitant as he asked, “You… made me cookies?”

“I… No,” Hux began, taken aback slightly by that way of framing it. It was only natural that Ren be confused by this. “I made them for myself. However, I wanted one to have with the caf, and it would be quite rude of me to bring some food and eat it in front of you without offering you any.”

“And you wouldn’t want to be rude,” Ren added faintly, sounding bemused.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Hux replied firmly. “Now. On the agenda today, we have the troop deployment in Kitrika sector, the proposed changes to the Stormtrooper training program, the ceremony for the completion of the three new Star Destroyers, what to do about that diplomatic kerfuffle with the Twi’lek prisoners, and whether we ought to have some sort of memorial, as Ambassador Verato proposes, or some sort of celebration, as General Tarkin—Illan Tarkin, not his cousin Graff—proposes, to mark the anniversary of the destruction of Hosnian Prime next month. Where would you like to start?”

Ren sighed and said, “With the Twi’leks, I suppose. Why can’t we just kill them, again?”

As Hux began to explain the situation in detail, he noticed Ren eyeing the plate of cookies. When he’d finished his explanation and was waiting for Ren to respond, Hux took up one of the cookies himself and took a delicate bite of it, washing it down with a sip of caf. Not as pleasant as having it alone in his own office, but it would do.

Midway through the next topic, Hux paused in the middle of his argument about why Cardinal’s program for early training ought not be subject to the proposed modifications to slide the plate of cookies in Ren’s direction. He asked, “Are you sure you don’t want one? They came out quite well, if I do say so myself.”

“I don’t eat sweets,” Ren replied, with another longing look at the tray.

“Do you not like them?” Hux asked, though he was almost certain that wasn’t why.

“They provide little nutritional value, except for energy, which I can get from ordinary food,” Ren informed him. Hux, once again, had to fight down the urge to roll his eyes.

Instead, he simply said, “Very well,” and moved on.

Poor Ren, Hux thought, not meaning it even slightly. He was enjoying the other man’s suffering, watching him sit there and smell the delicious aroma of the sweet spices he’d added to the sugar that topped the cookies. He so obviously wanted one that it was funny, his eyes returning to them again and again, but nonetheless he denied himself. If he didn’t eat one today, it would be a setback, but not an insurmountable one. Hux could always come back next week with a different flavor. Ren would certainly break eventually.

Then, during Ren’s own argument that they ought not do anything to mark the anniversary of Hosnian Prime (which Hux suspected was largely motivated by the fact that he didn’t want to give a speech,) Ren’s stomach growled.

Hux swallowed his snort of laughter but couldn’t resist the urge to tip the plate of cookies further towards Ren, raising an eyebrow at him.

Ren frowned, his cheeks coloring slightly in embarrassment, and he shook his head in refusal. The discussion resumed. They ended up settling on a very solemn military parade for the Hosnian anniversary as a kind of compromise, and Hux agreed that he would be the one to give the speech. Ren would only have to stand there and look regal and menacing.

It happened again a few minutes later when they were discussing the Kitrika sector, and this time Hux couldn’t not comment. “Are you sure you don’t want a cookie, Ren? You seem hungry.”

Ren hesitated for a moment but refused again, pushing the plate away from himself, as if that would reduce the temptation.

The third time, Hux snapped, “You’re being silly. There’s no food of high nutritional value here, so just eat the cookie.”

Ren glared at him but reached out and took a cookie, hesitating again as he brought it to his mouth.

“Have you forgotten how to eat?” Hux scoffed, amused enough by the proceedings to forget his careful attitude of deference to Ren’s position. “Open your mouth and take a bite.”

Ren did exactly that, and Hux felt a strange thrill run up his spine as he watched Ren obey the order. As Hux watched, his eyes closed in pleasure and his expression softened as he tasted sweetness and spices for the first time in years, a small hum of enjoyment slipping out from between his lips. It was strange, to see Ren’s habitual tension relax for just a moment.

It was also exceptionally satisfying. He’d done that, he’d put that ghost of a smile on their grim, angry Supreme Leader’s face.

“Now, chew,” Hux said, leaning forward slightly in his chair, “And swallow.”

Ren did so, the bob of his throat strangely captivating. Hux wished fleetingly that he could place his hand there, to feel Ren swallow instead of merely watching.

“Good,” Hux said, but at the last minute he realized how weird it was to praise Ren for taking a bite of cookie as if he was a small child, and he managed to make it come out more like “Good?”

“Very good,” Ren replied, “Hux. It’s… good.”

Struck barely articulate by Hux’s culinary talents. How gratifying.

Because he was aware that it was odd to simply stare at Ren while he ate, Hux swallowed the dregs of his now-cold caf and continued explaining the alternatives for the deployment, arguing for his favored strategy. He watched out of the corner of his eye, though, as Ren took uncharacteristically small bites of his cookies, trying to draw out the experience. Watched him lick crumbs from his lips, smiling that tiny smile despite himself.

He hadn’t expected this, such evident enjoyment so soon. It made him glad he’d added that extra pinch of salt to the cookies, to enhance the flavor of the spices.

Ren, perhaps distracted by his tastebuds, seemed content to follow his lead in the case of the Kitrika sector, and did not try to overrule him. He kept his peace and ate his cookie which was pretty much the ideal state of affairs, so far as Hux was concerned.

And so, meeting and mission complete, Hux gathered up his tray and quit the room. He left the plate of cookies, though, and as he walked away he heard the tell-tale soft crunch of Ren biting into another one.

The first engagement of Operation Ren and Relaxation had been a complete success.

* * *

****And so it went for the next several weeks. It became something of a ritual for Hux, preparing some sweet the night before his twice-weekly meetings with Ren. They’d had cakes and cookies of all kinds—retta-nut cakes, cakes topped with cream, dense, heavy cakes so full of bittersweet chocolate that they were nearly candy; citrus cookies, sweet cheese cookies, cookies with chunks of the same rare, imported chocolate he’d ordered to make the cakes. This purchase had been a great decision, despite the expense. Chocolate seemed to be Ren’s favorite, and in any case, it paired excellently with his favorite blend of caf.

Ren, just as he’d hoped, became increasingly less reluctant to eat the treats that Hux offered. He’d never had to prod Ren quite so much as that first time, which was slightly disappointing, in some strange way, but also good because it meant he was making progress. The whole thing was thoroughly enjoyable, much more so than Hux had expected—seeing the expression on Ren’s face as he took a bite of some new confection was now the highlight of Hux’s week. His honest delight was really rather charming, and it was only made more so by being illicit in light of Ren’s strange beliefs. It felt like he was corrupting Ren, and it gave him far more of a thrill than he’d planned for. He loved being an agent of sin.

He would never admit to how often he thought about the time he’d brought Ren a little dark chocolate cake topped with a soft blue cloud of freshly whipped sweetened cream. The way Ren had grinned at him when presented with it, wide and sweet and honest, suddenly childlike in his pleasure, had shaken Hux down to his bones. That smile had transformed his face, making him look like a different man entirely, one without the weight of the whole First Order on his shoulders. The man Ren could have been, if only the galaxy wasn’t quite so cruel. Hux wanted to see that smile again, as often as possible, for reasons he couldn’t put into words.

Nor would he forget the way Ren had moaned when he’d taken the first bite, giving himself over to his own enjoyment wholeheartedly and unashamedly, just for a moment. The sound of it had been one of the more pornographic things Hux had ever heard, and together with the look of bliss on Ren’s awkwardly handsome face, it had left him wondering whether Ren would take to other sorts of pleasures as well as he had to desserts.

That part of the plan was still a bit vague in his mind—he imagined it involving a courtesan of some kind, but exactly how he’d make that work, he hadn’t yet figured out. It was still a ways off, however. Ren would need to work up to something like that. But still… It was a tragedy that Ren had been forced into an ascetic lifestyle from a young age. Indulgence looked so good on him.

Which was why, when the opportunity to cook for Ren outside of their weekly meetings arose, Hux seized it without hesitation. This was how he’d ended up in the kitchen at 0300 after a truly harrowing night, boiling pasta and frying small pieces of cured nircta-belly with Ren sitting on a counter beside him next to his discarded hat, gloves, and jacket, watching curiously.

They were making steady progress in towards galactic center, but they’d come up against organized resistance tonight for the first time in a long time and it had taken them entirely off-guard. Ren had been furious—if not for Hux’s intervention, the Chief of Intelligence likely would have lost his head. The _Dominion_ and its escorts had been too far away to help, as had the bulk of the fleet. The small task group they’d sent when they’d expected the planet in question to simply fold had sustained heavy losses—three out of five ships had been either destroyed or so badly damaged they wouldn’t be worth the effort to repair, and two of those had gone down with their full complement—but they had eventually taken the day.

It had been agonizing for everyone to have to simply sit there and watch the battle play out on their holoscreens, too far away to even give orders in real time. Hux imagined that it must have been especially hard for Ren, who was still unused to being in a hands-off role. Watching him stalk back and forth, back and forth across the bridge like a caged Retherian war-cat, absolutely seething with impotent fury and barely-leashed Dark energy, making the monitors spark and glitch whenever he came too near, had been a remarkably unpleasant experience in itself.

But it was over, and Hux (who had been working since first shift that morning) was exhausted but still too keyed up to sleep. Also, he was starving. Suspecting that Ren was in a similar state, he’d invited the man along for a midnight meal. It was as much about indulging himself as it was indulging Ren—he liked cooking for this man, and he thought it would calm his frazzled nerves. Ren, for his part, had been incredibly easy to convince, worn down by weeks of exposure to Hux's culinary skill. And so, here they were.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Ren asked, his voice startlingly soft and a little rough after a night of shouting. It was very quiet in this part of the ship at this time of the night-cycle.

“My mother,” Hux answered absently as he separated eggs, catching the yolks in a cupped hand while the whites ran cold and slippery between his fingers.

“Hm. Sounds nice.”

“It wasn’t, not really—it wasn’t as though she taught me personally. She was a live-in cook for a wealthy family, and I spent a lot of time around the kitchen. I picked it up by osmosis.”

“I’d've pictured you being raised by nannies,” Ren commented.

Hux paused, turning to look at him. “I hadn’t been aware you’d spent much time considering my childhood.”

Ren shrugged. “I haven’t. I just didn’t know you lived with your mother rather than your father.”

Hux pursed his lips, grating the hard cheese he was holding a little more vigorously in irritation. He didn’t particularly want to talk about any of this. Despite this, he explained, “Until I was twelve. I’m still not sure if he didn’t know about me until then or was just waiting to see if I survived childhood before acknowledging me.”

“I see.”

Hux fished a long, thin noodle out of the pot with a fork and blew on it, waiting for it to cool before he bit into it. It wasn’t quite done, but he ate the rest of his test subject anyway, since he wasn’t going to throw it back into the pot. With a ladle, he scooped out some of the starchy pasta water and poured it into the pan with the chopped belly, turning the heat down and stepping back to avoid being spattered by the sizzling fat.

Once that mixture had calmed down, he added the egg whites and the grated cheese along with a generous dash of black pepper, stirring the mixture into a creamy sauce. All that was left, at that point, was to drain the pasta, mix it with the sauce, and plate it. Hux did so, making a small well in the center of each plate of pasta and plopping an egg yolk inside. A little more cheese, a little more pepper, and there it was. He handed a plate to Ren, and took one up himself. As for the dishes, he just left them there. What good was there in rank if you had to wash your own dishes?

“Let’s sit,” Hux said, feeling suddenly like he very much wanted to do that, his back and feet aching. He led them to a small table by a window, sinking gratefully into his seat. He was very tired, and regretted the fact that he was getting too old for this.

Ren was looking at his plate in puzzlement, so Hux took pity on him and demonstrated, breaking the egg yolk’s surface with his fork and then stirring it into the pasta.

 _Food,_ he thought as he chewed his first bite, _thank the stars for food._ He really was tremendously hungry, having been unable to eat as he watched the battle play out. His head ached, not so much with actual pain as that constant throb of go-to-bed, go-to-bed it got when he was really pushing it. After consuming these salty, savory carbohydrates, he was going to fall asleep pretty much immediately. It was going to be _great._

“Hux, this is fucking delicious,” Ren pronounced, talking around a mouthful of pasta. Hux couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about it. “Why’s it so good? You put like five things in it.”

“It’s good because I didn’t drain the fat off the cured nircta belly. It’s just evolution—anything with that kind of energy density is going to taste good. Also, cheese is great,” Hux explained, trying not to visibly preen at the praise. He knew he made a mean miner’s-style pasta, it was silly for it to feel so good to hear Ren say he liked it.

Ren licked his lips, then scraped over the bottom one with his teeth. This dish was like that—so rich that it coated your lips—but Hux’s eyes still tracked the motion as he copied the gesture, almost involuntarily. Lately, he felt like he was forever trying not to stare at Ren’s mouth whenever he cooked for him. It was a very nice mouth, meant for eating things exactly like this, and for kissing and smiling far more than Ren ever did.

They fell silent for a few minutes, each man immersed in his own pasta and exhaustion. Then Ren said, “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone cook for me before. Not really, not just for the two of us. Not anyone who could actually cook.” He paused for a moment and then added, “Well, I guess my uncle was okay.”

“Skywalker?” Hux asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He shouldn’t ask, probably.

“No, Chewie. Chewbacca. Han’s friend, the one who gave me this,” Ren said, tapping his side where Hux knew he had a grisly scar. Or at least he assumed so—the wound certainly had been nasty. Ren added, “Luke was a terrible cook, and mainly fed us the kind of stuff the troopers eat. Leia’s never cooked anything in her life, and Han lived on prepackaged meals and cheap take-out. He could make scrambled eggs, but that was about it.”

Hux was a little fascinated at this glimpse into the everyday lives of these legendary people, but he didn’t want to give that away to Ren. Nor did he want to comment on the badly-hidden threads of grief and regret in Ren’s voice when he spoke of his father, calling him by his first name—despite this odd, hushed, late night intimacy, that was a bridge too far. Instead, he asked, “Is it strange, then, to see food being prepared?”

“It’s interesting. I never thought about it too much before,” Ren admitted. “People do this every day, prepare food for their… people. It seems strange. I don’t know what it would be like to be like that.”

“Me neither. I can cook, but it’s a hobby, not an everyday necessity,” Hux agreed.

“Not just that, but to simply… live. Not in service to some ideal. No cause, no power, just life; ordinary life. Can you imagine that?”

“No.” It was true.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Me neither.”

Hux didn’t know what to say. He was not prepared for this conversation, nor did he think he ever would be, but he didn’t want it to be over just yet. He pushed his remaining pasta around his plate, thinking, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He looked up at Ren, hoping for inspiration, but instead their gazes met and locked, staring at each other over spaghetti.

Ren broke first, looking down to shove an overlarge final bite into his mouth.

Hux laughed softly, but cut the sound off almost before it had begun. The Supreme Leader would not appreciate Hux laughing at his awkwardness.

But Ren only smiled at him ruefully, cheeks coloring slightly. There was a smear of egg yolk beside his mouth. Hux’s chest felt tight, and he didn’t know why.

This time he was the one who looked away, finishing off his own plate in a succession of quick, neat bites. He rose, pushing tiredly to his feet.

Ren followed suit, and, still not looking at him, muttered, “Thanks. For the food. And for… stopping me. Earlier.”

Hux’s eyes widened, though he tried not to show his surprise. “I… You’re welcome, Ren.”

“Thats. That’s good, then,” Ren said.

“Yes,” Hux echoed. “That’s good.”

Ren still had egg on his face. With a conscious decision not to think on it overmuch, Hux licked the pad of his thumb and stepped in close to wipe in away.

It felt strange and novel, being this far into Ren’s personal space and not being afraid. Ren’s cheeks were prickly under his fingertips, and the smear of egg was close enough to his mouth that Hux’s thumb caught slightly on the swell of his bottom lip as he rubbed it away, dragging Ren’s mouth ever-so-slightly open.

Ren was staring at him with those painfully vulnerable eyes of his, face showing some kind of emotion that Hux couldn’t entirely decipher despite his facility with reading people. Maybe, he thought, Ren didn’t know what it was either, couldn’t sort it into a neat category, and that was why Hux couldn’t read it. If so, Hux could relate.

This was what came of being up this late, of being around other people in the depths of the third shift.

Hux stepped back, watching Ren’s hands come up as if to keep him close for just a moment before they lowered back to his sides. He needed to get out of here. Tiredness was making them both strange, too open, too honest. Too desperate not to be alone. He didn’t want to go, and that was how he knew he should.

“Goodnight, Supreme Leader,” Hux said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He began to walk away without waiting for a response, and Ren did not follow.


	3. 02. Social Grooming, or The Supreme Leader's New Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for the First Order being the First Order in this one--murders are contemplated, and war crimes are discussed casually.

If anyone had told Hux yesterday that he’d spend this afternoon on his knees in front of Kylo Ren, he’d have had them scrubbing ‘freshers for weeks. And yet, here he was, kneeling at the feet of his Supreme Leader.  
****

Of course, anyone who’d made such a comment wouldn’t have envisioned Hux with several straight pins in his mouth and a tape measure looped around his wrist. He was trying his damnedest to get Ren looking decent for his appearance at the military parade that would commemorate the destruction of the Hosnian system despite the fact that the droid who ought to be doing this job was currently out of commission.

Hux cursed the Bespin slicers who had written the virus afflicting every damn droid in the First Order, cursed the House of Rakelthic for sending only droids and not a human tailor, cursed the common weakness in the operating system of their droids and the fashion house’s, and, most importantly, cursed Kylo Ren for the little smile playing about his lips as he watched Hux fiddle with the hems of his trousers.

There. That looked even, the cuff falling against Ren’s enviable new boots—fabulously expensive things that felt impossibly buttery where Hux’s fingers brushed against them—in a straight line. He pinned the hems into place and shifted, allowing the holoprojection of the venerable fashion designer Pelnar Rakelthic to cast his extremely large eye over his work. 

“Good,” Rakelthic said, in his cheerful, querulous voice. “That’s just the right length. Now, I’ll need you to measure both the inseam and the outseam.”

Hux cursed himself, too, for glancing up—he could have gone his entire life without seeing Ren’s smirk from this angle. Now, he would never be able to unsee it, the image lurking in the back of his mind to spring out at him in unwary moments, taunting him. Right. Outseam first. For the glory of the First Order. 

Hux held the tape measure up to Ren’s waistband, the heel of his hand and the backs of his fingers pressing against Ren’s hip—his hip, never in his life had he wanted to touch Ren’s hip, and here he was, separated from it by only a layer of soft wool—as he held the end of the tape measure in place. He let the rest of it drop, bending to check the length to the bottom of Ren’s trousers, just below his ankle so that the front folded slightly over the top of his foot. The hand not at Ren’s hip pressed in against his foot to make sure he had no slack in the tape that would throw off his measurements, and he could feel the knob of Ren’s anklebone against the backs of his knuckles. 

Somehow, the thought of Ren having anklebones had never occurred to him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. A being like Ren shouldn’t have a stupid protruding bone where his foot attached to his leg.

Hux blinked and called out the length of Ren’s outseam for Rakelthic, who nodded and told him, “Inseam next.”

He was almost certain he detected a hint of amusement in the old man’s voice.

Hux took a deep breath, shifting to kneel upright directly in front of Ren, face-to-face with his crotch and trying his best to ignore it. This was made somewhat difficult by the fact that Ren’s new trousers—technically a mock-up of Ren’s new trousers, apparently the final version would be made of some special fabric—were cut slim through the hip and thigh. Too slim, if you asked Hux. They left very little to the imagination, pulled taut over Ren’s considerable… things he wasn’t ever going to consider. Hux added the knowledge that Ren dressed to the right to the growing pile of things he could never un-know.

He lifted the tape measure up to the inside of Ren’s thigh, but Ren was standing with his legs too close together to get it exactly right. Annoyed with him for making this more difficult than it needed to be, Hux rapped his thigh sharply with the back of his hand and demanded, “Legs open.”

Ren drew in a small, startled breath and complied, widening his stance. Unable to help himself, his attention caught by the sound, Hux glanced up, only to see Ren staring down at him, smirk gone, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

Hux swallowed hard, trying his best to ignore the fact that Ren was blushing because Hux told him to open his legs. It didn’t mean anything; this whole situation was ridiculous. Maybe he was just embarrassed.

Thinking about it that way didn’t help at all. He did not need to be mentally accosted by images of a blushing, squirming, virginal Ren being embarrassed to spread his legs. Which were somehow suddenly less clothed in Hux’s imagination than they were in real life.

Hux blinked the vision away, dismissing it as the product of a truly bizarre situation, and lifted the tape measure again. He held the metal end of it against the intersection of inseam and center seam, keeping it there with his thumb, pressing just hard enough to prevent it from slipping.

His thumb. Between Ren’s legs, pressing into the softness there, feeling the weight of his… No. Hux wasn’t going to think about it.

He could feel the warmth of Ren’s body, so concentrated here. He had to lean the back of his hand against the inside of Ren’s thigh to keep the tape measure steady without pressing too hard—that was soft, too, yet appealingly firm. It was, Hux thought distractedly as he bent to hold the other end of the tape measure to the inside of Ren’s ankle, a damned impressive thigh, thick with muscle. 

 _Appealing? Impressive?_ Stars, he hated the slicers who’d put him in this situation. Now he was blushing, too.

“Ei—” Hux’s voice came out choked and thick, and he had to clear his throat “Eighty-seven point five standard centimeters.”

“Very good,” Rakelthic said, seemingly oblivious to the tension between his client and his ersatz tailor. "The trousers seem to fit otherwise—actually, can you just check the back rise for me? Not gapping or sagging?” 

Hux considered the possibility that Rakelthic was fucking with him, but he wasn’t really picking up on any sense of mischief from him. No, he was probably so used to this sort of thing that he thought nothing of asking Hux to inspect Ren’s ass. 

Seeing no alternative, Hux stood and walked around behind Ren, avoiding his gaze. 

He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to be looking for—Ren’s ass seemed fine. No, the trousers. The trousers were fine. Hux swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He’d never had cause to look at Ren’s ass before, and it was… It looked very firm. But not so firm as to be unsqueezable. No, it was definitely… not unsqueezable.

“Well?” Rakelthic said, making Hux jump, startling him out of his contemplation. 

“It seems fine?”

Ren made a soft choking sound that Hux strongly suspected was a suppressed laugh. 

“Good. Not too loose?”

 _I doubt it,_ Hux thought, before he could stop himself. Frowning severely, he eyed the tops of Ren’s thighs, where his own trousers tended to fit awkwardly. No, they seemed alright.

“And the waistband? It’s not too tight, is it? See if you can get two fingers in and slide them around.”

“See if I—” Hux echoed incredulously, and Ren coughed abruptly, as if he’d choked on his own tongue.

“The waistband, boy! I don’t trust this one to tell me if it’s uncomfortably tight.” 

Hux craned his neck to peer at Rakelthic over Ren’s shoulder. The old bastard was smiling beatifically—he was definitely fucking with them. What an asshole.

Well, once more unto the breach, as it were. He slipped two fingers between Ren’s waistband and shirt, about halfway between the center of his back and his side. His affront at Rakelthic’s nerve faded away as the warmth of Ren’s body consumed his attention. His shirt was some kind of fine synthetic that felt like next to nothing, slipping and catching against his skin as Hux slowly dragged his fingers along Ren’s waist. He could almost feel the texture of it—his fingers trailed over a slightly raised patch that must be a mole. Hux swallowed, wondering where else Ren had them, if they were dotted across his whole body like points on a star map.

“It’s… good,” Hux muttered, then tried to firm his voice up as he clarified, “It fits.”

“Excellent! We managed to fit the shirt and jacket before the droid failure, so you won’t have to worry about that. I’ll send your people the final measurements for the fabricator by tomorrow—fortunately, that still works.”

Hux stepped out from behind Ren, and nodded curtly, hating the fairness of his complexion—between Rakelthic’s innuendos and the feel of Ren’s body, he must be terribly red.

Before he could say anything, Ren nodded to Rakelthic and told him. “I’ll contact you when the garments are finished.”

He cut the connection and turned to Hux, his eyebrows lifting in surprise, lips quirking up as he took in Hux’s face.

“You’re all pink,” Ren said, his voice soft and amused.

Hux scowled, annoyed at Ren for mentioning it. “So are you.”

“Well, I hardly woke up this morning expecting this. It’s different from having a droid do it,” Ren admitted. 

Hux wondered, suddenly, if anyone had ever touched the insides of Ren’s thighs before. Given what he’d said before about his refusal of physical pleasure, could it be that he was the first? He gave himself a firm mental shake—it was irrelevant and unprofessional to dwell on such matters. 

Casting about for something to say, Hux settled on, “In any case, I’m glad to see you’ll be properly dressed in the future.”

Ren pulled a face. “We’ll see. After getting a look at the droids he sent, I’m not convinced Rakelthic can design anything at this point. I think he’s senile.”

Hux shot a glance at Rakelthic’s horrible little suitcase creature that sat in the corner of the room, awaiting the return of its sample garments. It was the worst of the lot, a chartreuse and magenta floral body with six articulated legs covered in some sort of black vinyl that conjured for Hux the memory of a terribly weird party he’d ended up at during his final year at the academy. It was, apparently _deliberately,_ quite hideous. The little BB-type droid that had taken Ren’s initial measurements and should have taken the final ones today was nearly as bad, a screaming high-gloss red-orange that clashed terribly with Ren’s crimson and mahogany office as it lolled about trilling nonsense in binary.

“He’s… eccentric, yes,” Hux admitted. “But his qualifications are impeccable. You know he—”

“Designed the aesthetic components of my grandfather’s cybernetic armor. I _know._ You’ve told me. Why did you think I tolerated his insolence today?” 

“I see. Well, then, trust that he’ll make you look like a head of state while retaining your generally menacing aura.”

Ren gave him a look, as if trying to discern whether Hux was making fun of him, but then he shook it off and said, “I have to go change. I have a meeting with Admiral Kretchic.”

Hux blinked. He always made a point of leaving before Ren dismissed him, and here he was, lingering. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then.”

“Yeah,” Ren agreed. “Until then.”

* * *

The next meeting with Ren was uneventful, and the rest of the week passed in a blur of late nights and early mornings. Hux had to devote an incredible amount of time to the droid quarantine and cleanup effort, an dreadfully inconvenient and tedious task. It was also starting to seem hopeless—the virus was outstandingly contagious, and they had yet to develop a software patch that served as a surefire inoculation. 

It wasn’t especially dangerous in itself, but having so many of their droids out of commission, incapable of doing anything but spewing ads for various semi-legal Bespin businesses, was hugely inconvenient. (If _one more_ droid insinuated that of any of his body parts required enhancement, Hux was going to take a page out of Ren’s book and take its head off.) Efficiency was down by a truly staggering amount all across the First Order and the sheer slow-down would begin to seriously cost them if they couldn’t get it under control soon. 

When it came to technical expertise, Hux was a hardware man, so he could not personally be of much use solving the problem. Riding the slicers in charge of developing a software patch to inoculate the droids any harder than he already was would be counterproductive. He could only do damage control, a job he had always hated. 

The Hosnian anniversary was almost upon them, and the Dominion was already headed to the Attera system, whose immense parade grounds would play host to the ceremony.  Fortunately, most of the preparations for that were out of Hux’s direct purview. He’d put Mitaka in charge of it and was content to let him handle it—he wasn’t the best under pressure, but this kind of intricate planning and PR was exactly the sort of thing he did best. 

It was all proceeding apace, up until his next meeting with Ren, a little less than a week after their holo-meeting with Rakelthic, and only a day before the ceremony. Hux walked into Ren’s office as usual, caf tray in hand, but stopped short in the doorway.

“What is _that?_ " Hux exclaimed, unable to keep the horror off his face.

Ren looked at him, affecting (Hux hoped it was an affectation, anyway) a hurt expression. “I’m growing a beard.”

“No,” Hux told him firmly, whatever deference he still had shunted aside by his intense aesthetic distress. “You most certainly are not. I don’t know what that is, but it isn’t a beard.”

“It isn't finished growing in yet,” Ren protested. It certainly wasn’t, it was patchy and scraggly and all around pathetic.

Hux stared at him, amazed at his stupidity all over again. “Is it going to be grown in tomorrow? You know, when you have to go on camera for the entire galaxy to see?” 

“…No,” Ren admitted. “It won’t.” 

“Well, then it’s got to go. It makes you look like a teenager! Even if you had time, does your beard ever grow in properly?”

“Oh, kriff off,” Ren snapped, but it sounded more annoyed than genuinely angry, his eyes on the mrilberry teacakes on Hux’s tray. “And I don’t know, I’ve never had one before.”

“What in the stars possessed you to grow one now?” Hux asked, making his way over to Ren’s desk and setting the caf tray down befor he took a seat opposite him.

Ren said nothing, fixing his caf and taking a teacake without so much as the slightest hesitation. Hux had entirely won him over on that front. Aesthetically, though…

“You can’t go out there tomorrow looking scruffy. We’ve been over this.” 

Still, Ren said nothing, avoiding Hux’s eyes. Hux stared at him curiously, suspecting that he was missing something. But what?

Wait. Surely not. But—“Ren, do you usually use a cosmetic droid to shave?” 

Ren’s cheeks pinked. He did! That was unexpected. Hux watched with raised brows as he admitted, “Yes. I had to, once, years and years ago after I got injured on one of my early missions for Snoke. It takes way less time, and it does a good job. And now the damn thing only whistles at me in binary about ‘single women in my area, no credits required,’ and I can’t get another one because of the quarantine. I don’t even—never mind.”

Hux suppressed an amused smile. What a predicament—Ren was right to suspect he’d do a wretched job of shaving his face after years of not doing it, but he was also right not to want to let anyone know.

There was only one solution.

“Very well,” Hux declared, “I’ll do it. Just for the ceremony.”

Ren looked at him, his expression disbelieving. “You’re going to shave me.”

“ _I_ don’t use a cosmetic droid.” 

His voice flat and incredulous, Ren said. “I’m going to let you hold a _razor_ to my throat.”

This time, Hux did let himself smile a little. He and Ren had a solid enough working relationship these days, but that didn’t mean they had a truce, and Ren was right to note it. “Take some precautions, then.”

Smirking a little, he added, “I’ll let you hold onto your saber if it makes you feel better.”

Ren scowled, looking genuinely irritated now. This whole situation must be more than a bit hard on his pride, and Hux wasn’t helping by needling him. Flatly, he said, “That won’t be necessary.”

“Good. That’s settled, then. Now, about the late shipment of deuterium from Abraxas…”

* * *

A few hours before the ceremony, Hux found standing outside Ren’s door, annoyed at being made to wait. He checked his chrono—1102 hours. He’d been standing here for two minutes without so much as an answer through the intercom. The nerve of Ren, to leave him waiting when he’d come to do a favor for him! A favor that, now he’d had time to reflect on it, was really a bit odd. Surely he could have found a way to simply get Ren a new cosmetic droid. 

But no matter. If anything, he could consider this an addendum to Operation Ren and Relaxation—cosmetic droids did a tolerable job at shaving, but it was a utilitarian sort of process. Ren might like its convenience, but Hux would demonstrate that in all possible aesthetic aspects, one was better off without any sort of technological assistance. Perhaps he’d make a convert of Ren.

At 1104, the door finally opened. Ren greeted him with a nod, but Hux barely managed to return it, too busy trying to keep his face neutral in the face of Ren’s unusual appearance. He was barely half-dressed, clad only in a dark red v-neck t-shirt and the blackest pair of trousers he’d ever seen. They were truly eye-grabbing in their sheer lack of color and reflectivity, and the shirt… Well, Hux was never going to be skeptical about the amount of time Ren spent his private gym again.

Still more shocking, his skin was slightly flushed and his hair was still soaking wet—he’d clearly just come from the shower. Which Hux had told him to do, to open his pores and soften his scraggly proto-beard. He’d said this, yet somehow he’d not expected to actually see Ren quite so freshly washed. He must have been in the shower when Hux had arrived. It shouldn’t be especially notable, but somehow, it was.

When Ren ushered him into his quarters with a muttered, “General,” Hux caught a whiff of the standard regulation soap and shampoo on him—was that what he himself smelled like? He rather hoped so. It was really… not bad.

“Well,” Hux said, feeling tremendously awkward all of a sudden, here in Ren’s unexpectedly spartan rooms. “We’ll need water, so I suppose we’ll do this in your ‘fresher.” 

Ren, who was being even more taciturn than usual, merely nodded and led the way—the quarters, it seemed, were an exact mirror of his own, except without the personal decorative touches Hux had seen fitto install. They had to walk through the bedroom, and Hux cast a curious glance towards Ren’s bed, finding it neatly made, if not precisely to regulation standards.

Stars, it was depressing in here. Off-white walls, gray carpet, ugly, default furnishings—Ren really needed to get some art or something. No wonder he was so gloomy, if this is what he came home to at the end of the day. Surely his self-appointed promotion should have resulted in a better-appointed suite of rooms; Ren must have turned it down, the ascetic idiot. 

The ‘fresher mirror was still white with steam, and the room was warm and humid. Apparently, Hux thought, Ren was the sort who liked to boil himself in the shower. Hard on the skin, that, but it did feel good. He found this strangely heartening—at least Ren didn’t add to his misery by taking lukewarm showers. 

There was, Hux realized, nowhere to sit. For sanitary reasons, the toilet had its own little closet, and there was no bathtub. Well, the counters—as in all crew quarters—were aggravatingly low, apparently designed for people at least a quarter-meter shorter than Hux for some unknown reason, so that would have to do. He pointed to a space beside the sink, and told Ren to sit there. It was marginally better than having him stand, in any case. 

Hux took off his gloves, then set his shaving kit down and opened it, setting out the items contained within on the counter for easy access.

“What, you really use all this every day?” Ren asked, brows drawn together as he looked skeptically at Hux’s supplies. 

“Yes,” Hux replied, then fell silent. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to explain, but rather that he wasn’t sure how to explain in a way that Ren could understand.

“Why?”

“It’s… first of all, one gets a closer shave this way, and I’d prefer not to be any more scruffy by the end of the day than need be. Also, I suppose you could say it’s a… habit. Something to mark the beginning of another day.”

“Seems like a hassle.” 

“It is. But then, so is brewing one’s own caf. This isn’t so different.”

“I see,” Ren said neutrally. Hux suspected he didn’t, but perhaps that would change. 

There was nothing for it now but to start, Hux knew, though he was loath to. He wished he could leave instead—this had been a bad idea. It was too strange, being here in Ren’s space, in this domestic scene, in his full uniform while Ren was barefoot and half-dressed. It felt like a glimpse into some other world where things were different between them, and much like all the tall tales he’d ever heard about men granted such visions, he thought he’d be better off without the knowledge. 

His stomach full of strange, squirming things, Hux dispensed a bit of moisturizing oil onto his fingers and rubbed his hands together, then stepped in close, standing between Ren’s knees, to pat and rub it onto his face—he only needed to do the bottom part, of course, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Ren being half-moisturized.

Ren flinched slightly when Hux reached for him, but he quickly stilled, acquiescing to the strange sensation of another’s hands on him. His skin was terribly warm, soft and human beneath his hands. Although, Hux was mostly too busy being appalled by the feel of his scraggly whiskers to notice it much, except for the delicate thinness of the skin under his eyes, too dark and covered with a tracery of fine lines, mirror to Hux’s own.

He swept his hands down Ren’s neck, lightly rubbing the oil into his skin, fighting to keep his bemusement at the sheer strangeness of this experience off his face. Having his hands on Ren’s neck did not feel very much like he’d imagined.

When he stepped away again, he was noticeably colder, his skin clammy with condensation from the fading steam that still warmed the room, absent Ren’s body heat. Too gruffly, he said to Ren, “Get a towel or something. Shaving cream will come out in the laundry, but good luck trying to get it off before then.”

What was he doing? Talking about laundry with the Supreme Leader? How inane.

As Ren got up to grab a towel, Hux scooped a dollop of shaving cream from the tub and placed it in the small bowl he’d brought with him, then wet his brush under the tap and began to stir the cream into a lather. When Ren had settled back in his spot with a towel draped over his chest and Hux’s brush had accumulated enough lather, he stepped back in and carefully swirled the brush over Ren’s face, covering him in a rich, sandalwood and vetal spice-scented foam.

Ren would smell like him after this, Hux realized. The thought loomed improbably huge in his mind, taking on far more significance than it ought to have, though what exactly that significance consisted in, Hux couldn’t say.

He unfolded his razor, slipping the freshly honed and stropped blade from the carved bone handle, the familiar weight of it in his hand calming him as he held it with his first three fingers along the spine of the blade and his little finger on the tang, his thumb on the side of the blade, the same grip he always began with. 

Ren looked back and forth between the razor in Hux’s hand and his face a few times, but did not otherwise remark upon it. So, Hux began, turning his head to the left with a finger beneath his chin, and slowly drawing the blade down over Ren’s cheek, following the direction in which his beard grew. 

The direction of it, doing this for someone else, was alien, but the action itself was familiar, and Hux felt himself relaxing as he fell into the rhythm of it, dragging the blade over Ren’s face, scraping away his unfortunate beard and flicking its remnants into the sink, first one side then the other.

He tried to act as if he was a barber, a professional, but it was difficult when he could feel Ren’s breath on the back of his hand, when he was well inside the little bubble of warmth the man gave off—surely, Hux thought, that wasn’t natural. It must be the Force, that made him run so hot. That thought made the feel of it slightly less appealing, but not by nearly as much as he’d prefer. It was nowhere near enough of a deterrent, when one considered how damn cold the _Dominion_ , like the _Finalizer_ before it and the _Absolution_ before that, always was.

Hux’s whole body wanted to press up against Ren and steal his heat.

The idea was appalling, of course, appalling and ridiculous, but that didn’t stop some animal part of his brain from wanting to curl around Ren like a lizard around a sun-warmed rock. And he smelled good, so good, something about him making the same boring soap Hux used smell intoxicatingly masculine, clean and fresh but still undeniably male.

Hux swallowed as the tipped Ren’s head up to shave his upper lip, his finger on the tip of Ren’s overlarge nose to pull the skin below it taut. Ren was… very much a man. This was something he’d learned over the course of the past few days. Very human, very male—between shaving his face for him and that absurd fitting for his new clothes, Hux was no longer able to ignore this fact.

Before, he’d known it intellectually but never fully believed it, seeing Ren as some sort of capricious spirit. Now, he knew it all the way down, feeling the weight of that fact in places he probably ought not. The broad span of Ren’s shoulders, the swell of muscle in his bare arms, the borderline-obscene way that t-shirt pulled tight across Ren’s chest these were no longer just abstract visual stimuli to him, but evidence that Ren was a member of the class of beings Hux most preferred to bed. He wasn’t ordinarily the type to be distracted by a flash of skin, but the way the v of Ren’s shirt collar framed the hollow of his throat was nothing short of devastating. 

Hux shoved his distraction down, refocusing his wandering attentions on his task as he slowly Ren’s narrow chin, being careful not to cut him.Then, thumb atop the freshly shaven skin, he tipped Ren’s head back, exposing the right side of his jaw and neck.

The thought crept into his head unbidden, as much a trespasser as his earlier admiration: just one quick slash and Ren would bleed out long before the medics could get here. Ren was a man—very male, and very _human._ His throat was as vulnerable as that horrid upperclassman who’d trespassed against a certain cadet one too many times—he’d die just as quick, and just as messy.

Hux could walk out on that stage two hours from now and proclaim himself Supreme Leader.

Hux drew in a sharp breath, his heart rate skyrocketing.Just as Hux pressed the blade to Ren’s skin, a large, invisible hand had curled loosely about his throat; a threatening, implacable weight  His eyes flicked up to Ren’s, and he saw him watching, slit-eyed, his own throat still exposed. 

Quietly, Ren told him, “Just so you aren’t too unduly tempted, General. I’d hate to have to kill you before you even finish with your task.”

Hux’s lip twitched as he suppressed a snarl—that high-handed, unnecessarily dramatic ass. He hadn’t been going to kill him! Hux may have cut a throat or two in his day, but it was hardly his preferred method of murder. Besides, it would be politically terrible timing to do it today. Now he was going to have to do this with the equivalent of Ren’s damn hand around his neck.

Ren’s eyes glinted at him, daring him to make a move, and Hux stared back, suddenly filled with urge to do it just to spite him. Just to show him he would. After all, would Ren really have the presence of mind to use his abilities on Hux as he crumpled to the deck, dying? Hux doubted it, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe Hux would kill him and take his place, or maybe Hux would doom them both. It would be like playing Dantooinian roulette.

Still caught in Ren’s gaze, Hux raised the blade, settling it along the curve of Ren’s narrow jaw. Ren swallowed, his breathing picking up just the slightest bit. He was, Hux thought with relish, a little afraid.

It was enough to calm his spike of temper, his irrational desire to try his luck. He scraped the blade over Ren’s skin carefully, holding the skin taut with his left hand. He traced the grain of his beard down his neck, flicking the whiskers and foam into the sink, then doing it again, a little closer to the center. _Scrape, scrape, scrape,_ domestic and ordinary, the same sound he heard every morning.

The pressure against his throat did not relent, but it didn’t tighten, just resting there like a reminder. It really did feel like a hand, heavy and warm, about the same size as Ren’s real ones—i.e, uncomfortably huge, wrapping more than halfway around his neck. 

In another context, it could have been the possessive touch of a lover. 

In theirs, all it meant was mutually assured destruction. 

Hux finished the first pass with the razor and wiped it on the towel before he reached for the brush again, swirling lather over Ren’s face. He’d do a second pass across the grain, and then a third against it—for himself, he usually only did two, but Ren’s hair was darker and coarser than his. 

Ren’s non-hand did not move. Hux worked around it, settling into the meditative rhythm of stroking the blade across Ren’s skin, but he couldn’t ignore the weight of it. It made him too aware of Ren, his already-heightened sense of him nigh-unbearable. When he bent close, he could smell Ren’s breath, minty, when he tipped his head this way and that, he could feel the slight drag of his remaining stubble under his fingers. It was almost too much, too overwhelming, being this close to Ren, inhabiting the space between his knees, so close to the soft insides of his thighs that he’d touched less than a week ago.

Ren watched him the whole time, his eyes dark and unreadable, yet somehow warm and open, uncomfortably so. Hux was glad that his task required his eyes, that it gave him an excuse to look away without losing face. 

When he finished the third pass, he took Ren’s towel and wet it under tap, using it to wipe away the remains of his shaving cream. Ren’s hold on his neck dissipated, dissolving back into nothing. 

Finally, he squeezed a bit of aftershave balm onto his fingers and gently spread it over Ren’s cheeks, jaw, and neck. It felt impossibly intimate, touching that newly shorn skin—it was so soft, new-made. His fingertips on Ren’s jaw suddenly felt like fingertips on the jaw of any number of people he’d kissed. He had the height advantage—it would be so easy to just lean down and—

Ren’s eyes dropped to his mouth, and an another moment stretched out impossibly long, awaiting a decision. For the second time that day, Hux chose not to damn them both.

He stepped away, instead, losing Ren’s warmth for the third and final time. 

He didn’t meet Ren’s eyes as he rinsed and dried his razor, folding it back up and putting it in his bag along with everything else. 

When he had composed himself enough to look up, he saw Ren trailing his fingertips over his jaw, where Hux’s fingers had just been.

“It’s so smooth,” Ren murmured, half talking to himself.

“That is the idea,” Hux agreed, trying for acerbic and not quite managing it.

They looked at each other, then, at a loss. After a moment, Hux said, “I’d better go check in with Mitaka. Make sure the preparations are coming along as they ought.”

Ren nodded. “I’ll see you at the ceremony, then.”

They did this, now, saying goodbye with when they’d see each other next. When had that happened? How long had it been going on? Hux had to get out of there. 

He nodded and fled, hoping Ren wouldn’t recognize the beginnings of panic in his too-quick walk.


	4. 03. In Vino Veritas, or This Is Probably A Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the long awaited anniversary ceremony occurs, we finally get to see Ren's outfit from last time, and our heroes, such as they are, get rather drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Notes: I've cleaned up the numbering system for the chapters, they make a lot more sense now. The first chapter is the prologue (which you've already read, if you've been following along. It used to be part of chapter one. Now, we've got one indulgence, that is, one of the titular "five things" per chapter, which makes way more sense than what I was doing before. So, there will be two more "things" after this, and then the +1, making 3 more chapters in total. 
> 
> I've also updated the tags for the rest of the story as it's currently planned in my head. Hopefully, I won't have to change them again, but we'll see. One change you may note is that the 'Virgin Kylo' tag is now missing. I've had a change of heart regarding his pre-defection back story, so just forget that was ever on there. Now he's just 'it's been like 8 or 9 years since i've had sex Kylo'. My apologies if this disappoints anyone, but I feel it makes more sense with the way I'm characterizing him in this story.
> 
>  
> 
> **Chapter warnings:**  
>  This chapter contains a fairly in-depth discussion of the destruction of the Hosnian system and our boys' respective takes on it. Just a heads up, and a reminder that while this is soft kylux, it's canon-verse soft kylux, and Kylo and Hux are... bad. Kylo's behavior towards Hux in TLJ is also discussed.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, a display of the First Order’s might and manpower going out on the holos galaxy-wide. A fitting anniversary for the last day of the Republic.

Hux gave his speech to lines of stormtroopers and cameras, more solemn and restrained than the one he’d made a year ago, but no less impassioned. He did not express regret—there was very little he could do to sell that, however good a liar he was. Instead, he spoke of the greater good and necessary sacrifice. It was a trite message, but it was fitting, and it was true.

Ren stood behind him and off to one side, silently menacing, regal in the suit Rakelthic had designed, while the other high-ranking officers stood on the other. Ren’s jacket, cape, and trousers were all so black and matte that they looked to have been cut from the void between stars.

The cape hung around his shoulders, making him look shapeless and spectral—he only turned human when the wind lifted it away and revealed him to have arms and legs. Even then, the eye rebelled against the purity of the garments’ blackness, stripping Ren of depth, of his three-dimensionality. He did not look like a man so much as a man-shaped patch of darkness with a grave, pale face, limned by a black halo of wind-whipped hair held in place by a silver circlet.

It suited him.

Afterward, when they had returned to the _Dominion_ , Ren caught his eye as the two of them exited the shuttle. He looked grim and exhausted, heartsick and older. Hux’s insides twisted, and he hated himself for it a little—it was unlike him to be moved by the pain of another. It seemed silly to be bothered by Ren’s misery when the deaths of billions by his order didn’t so much as touch him; silly and vaguely obscene, to be affected only at this remove.

Whatever Ren had been searching for in Hux’s eyes, he mustn’t have found it. He turned and began to walk away, but before Hux knew what he was doing, he found himself calling after him. “Ren, wait.”

He turned, void-black cape swirling, silently fixing those eyes that looked almost as black in the cold, artificial light of the shuttle bay on Hux.

“Do you want to come have a drink with me?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. It was too soon—he’d intended to introduce Ren to alcohol eventually, but it wasn’t the time. Things had been so strange between them earlier, before the ceremony. He wasn’t sure he was ready to have Ren in his space again so soon.

“I don’t drink,” Ren said, head cocked slightly to one side.

“I know,” Hux replied. “But you look like you could use one.”

Ren considered for a moment and then nodded, looking away. “I could. But…”

Hux closed the distance between them, suddenly unwilling to take the out Ren had offered him. He knew it would be weird, but he wanted Ren to come drink with him. He wanted him not to look like that. He wanted, well. His quarters sounded terribly empty just now.

Quietly, he said, “Snoke’s dead, Ren. You can do what you like.”

“It isn’t that,” Ren said, staring off into the middle distance. “It isn’t that at all.”

Maybe it was because of what he was wearing, or maybe it was because there was still something portentous hanging the air, some significance that Hux was incapable of grasping, but his voice sounded hollow, sounded like the the howling of the wind.

“Then I don’t see the problem,” he told Ren briskly. “Come on.”

With that, he turned on his heel and began walking to his quarters, like he didn’t have a single doubt that Ren will follow him. In reality, he had no idea whether he would. He gave it even odds.

Ren followed, his heavy footsteps echoing off the corridor walls.

The silence between them was a little tense, but not altogether uncomfortable—strange, how having Ren at his back, looming like some great black carrion bird, didn’t make his skin crawl. They made their way back to Hux’s quarters, waiting together in the lift as it sped between decks. The enclosed space and the stillness made the silence more awkward. Hux wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of what.

`“They suit you,” he blurted out a moment later. “Your new garments.”

Great. A compliment. That was… not what he’d intended, but it was better than silence. Maybe.

Ren was looking at him curiously now, head cocked slightly to one side, making himself look even more birdlike. After a moment, he replied “Thank you. I… like them. Rakelthic did well.”

“Did he design only the one suit?”

“No,” Ren said. “I have several. It’s… nice. They fit better than my other clothes.”

“Good. That’s important—it wouldn’t do to have our Supreme Leader looking like he’d bought his clothing off the rack in some dingy Coruscanti market.”

“I never buy clothes off the rack,” Ren said. “Haven’t been able to for several years, the proportions are always wrong. Unless I was on Ikthia, maybe. Their clothes might fit. But they wear a lot of orange, and it’s the females who’re about my size.”

Hux blinked. That was an odd thing to say, but he supposed Ren did have roughly the proportions of a female Ikthian. “You’d look terrible in orange.”

A flicker of amusement passed over Ren’s gloomy expression. “Maybe.”

The lift dinged and let them off, discharging them into the hallway that both their quarters adjoined. A few more steps and a swipe of Hux’s hand over the biometric lock and they were inside, standing in the entryway of Hux’s rooms as he ordered the lights to seventy percent.

“Have a seat,” Hux said, waving at his sofa. “I’ll see what I have here that you might like.

Ren sat down gingerly, still in his regalia—he looked ridiculous, there on Hux’s rather elderly ice-blue couch. It had once been a pristine piece of furniture when he’d first acquired it during his stay on the _Absolution_ , but it had long since become something comfortable and squashy, complete with worn-thin spots from Millicent’s claws and more than a few stray orange hairs. Hux suppressed a smile as he imagined Ren sweeping around dramatically with cat hair stuck to his cape. Millicent herself likely wouldn't emerge with a stranger here, but the couch would certainly be enough.

He had to check what supplies he had here. His own drink of choice was Corellian brandy with ice, but he didn’t think non-drinker Ren would appreciate the burn of straight liquor as much as he did. He rummaged in his small conservator, looking for inspiration.

He didn’t have any sort of juice or anything at present… His eye landed on the small pitcher of blue cream he kept for his and Ren’s firstday-fourthday afternoon caf. That would work, he decided.

He got that out, as well as some chocolate liqueur he’d ordered for a recent dessert, then retrieved his second-best brandy from the counter that separated the kitchenette from the sitting area, along with the rarely-used shaker that sat beside it. What the hells, Hux decided—today was an occasion (what sort of occasion, he still wasn’t sure, but it was certainly an occasion.) He’d make himself one as well.

He felt Ren’s curious eyes on him as he poured a double measure of the brandy into the shaker, and about half that amount each of cream and chocolate liqueur. Next, the ice, and finally, he had to shake it thoroughly—it was especially important, he thought, with creamy drinks. He felt quite silly, standing there shaking while Ren watched, the shaker cold and slippery with condensation in his hands, but he was hardly going to under-chill the drinks. Still, it was a relief to strain the icy mixture into a pair of glasses. Garnish with a pinch of _mltha_ spice and there you had it.

He handed Ren his cocktail, watching as he always watched while he took a sip.

Hux watched the bob of Ren’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, then managed to drag his eyes back up in time to see an expression of surprised pleasure on his face. “Tastes good. Like ice cream.”

Hux smiled, more pleased, as always, than was entirely seemly at Ren’s enjoyment of something he’d made. “Yes, I thought you’d like it.”

He settled in the couch’s matching armchair, diagonal to Ren, and unbuttoned the top button of his collar. He was, after all, off duty.

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, the quiet between the slowly becoming more and more awkward. Hux hadn’t thought about it, because they talked all the time, but it was always… about things. About new offensives and expense reports and all of that. What else was there?

“So, the parade went well today,” Hux said eventually, unable to bear it any longer. “I thought it looked rather impressive.”

“Yes,” Kylo agreed. “It did. I cast my mind out as the feed was broadcasting, and I could feel their fear and awe, the fear and awe of billions. The display, along with the reminder, was very effective.”

Hux hesitated a moment, but then his curiosity got the better of him. “What’s that like?”

Ren cocked his head, thinking. After a moment, he replied, “Do you know how it feels to look into someone’s eyes and see their fear? To know that they think you can hurt them, and to know that they’re right, that you can?”

Hux took another pull off his drink to wet his suddenly dry mouth. He did, in fact, know. It was one of his favorite things. He nodded.

Ren’s eyes glittered at him, unfathomable and shining as he leaned forward, his face more animated than Hux had seen it all day. “Multiply that by a thousand, by a million. At this kind of distance, it’s muted, but there are so many, Hux. There are so many people out there, and they all fear us. It’s like being a god.”

Hux drained his glass to buy himself a moment—he could imagine that feeling and he liked it a lot. He was in this to bring order to the hideous chaos of the galaxy, but he had to admit, he didn't mind the side-effects, he didn't mind the _power_. He also didn't mind the look on Ren’s face, the width of his shining eyes, the excited flare of his nostrils, the upward quirk of his lips. It somehow made him seem to loom unduly large for a moment, a hot, dry wind stirring the ends of his hair… Or maybe Hux was just imagining it.

“Why did you look like someone shot your dog when we got off that shuttle today, then?” Hux asked, after a moment.

Ren slouched back into his corner of the couch, seeming to deflate, his aura of power diminishing until he was just a man. He took a pensive sip of his drink.

Instead of answering, he asked, “Would you build another Starkiller, if you could?”

“In a heartbeat,” Hux answered, suddenly hopeful and telling himself not to get too excited. Last he’d heard there was no other planet suitable, but maybe…

“Would you use it?”

“Yes, if it was necessary.”

“Would it bother you?”

Hux looked away, aware of what the correct answer was supposed to be, but for once the lie felt unnatural on his lips. “No.”

Ren, too, had finished his drink. He set the glass down on the table, shifting closer, their knees almost touching as Ren leaned forward and looked directly into Hux’s eyes, his gaze almost intolerably intense. “I admire that about you. You know what I see, when I look at you?”

“What,” Hux half-whispered, entranced.

“I see darkness, pure and cold. I see the void between galaxies, the relentless order of nothingness.”

Hux swallowed, wishing he had some of his drink left. He couldn’t look away from Ren’s eyes.

“I wish you could have felt it, when the Hosnian system died. I think you might have enjoyed it. All those lives, just ending. People, Hux, people like you and I, with lives, with goals and plans, who make pasta late at night and go through all their little routines and rituals—and they just _stopped._ You said the word, and there was a moment, for them, a moment when they saw their skies turning red, felt the air begin to heat. Confusion, then a split-second of pain, then _nothing._ Just a hole where five inhabited worlds had been. A gaping wound in the flesh of our galaxy.”

“And you didn’t. You didn’t enjoy it,” Hux asked, or he’d meant to. It didn’t come out as a question. It didn’t come out as more than a whisper.

“No,” Ren said. “I couldn’t do anything but vomit or scream. I thought I might die. I thought I might go insane. It was like… Have you ever gotten close, really close to a gravitational anomaly?”

“Of course not!”

“It’s like being torn apart, watching as reality twists around you into something impossible, something that cannot be, but it is. It _is._ The death of the Hosnian system felt like that. One point of super-dense _wrong,_ impossible to comprehend and yet through the Force I had no choice but to comprehend it, and to comprehend my part in it. It will never, _never_ happen again.”

Hux was quiet for a long moment. He truly had nothing to say to that. The platitudes he’d spouted earlier about the greater good, for all he genuinely believed them, seemed utterly useless. If he was honest with himself, he knew that he did not, _could not_ comprehend the magnitude of what had been done by his command. He simply wasn't built for it.

There were very few people in this galaxy that he truly understood as beings like himself, as Ren had put it. The citizens and senators at the former seat of the New Republic were not and had never been among them—he understood intellectually that they were sentient, sapient beings, some of them were even human, but so what?

The universe owed you nothing just for having a conscious existence. People talked about lives, just lives, any lives, as having intrinsic value, as being precious, but Hux had never understood it. He didn’t take his own life to be valuable to anyone except himself, because he rather enjoyed being alive, and the First Order generally, because he was good at what he did. He didn’t see why anyone outside of that had reason to care about him simply because he was a living, breathing, thinking creature, and he didn’t care about them, either.

He looked at Ren, found him staring at his hands, frowning, pale and drawn as if he stuck in a loop, recalling and recalling and recalling how it had felt to watch worlds die. It made something in Hux’s chest twist, and he nudged Ren’s boot with his own.

“Hey,” he said, “Want another drink?”

* * *

 

“I… I don't know. I should… study. Meditate. I’m not Sith, but I could learn from the ancient teachings,” Ren told him, his words slow and careful. “And I suppose… I should either kill or train any Force-sensitives we find.”

“No, no, no,” Hux said, waving at him dismissively with one bare hand. He’d lost his gloves and boots a while ago, though he was still rather too warm. “What do you _want_ to do, after we’ve saved the galaxy?”

Ren said nothing, just stared at his drink, his brow furrowed.

“I’m going to buy a _house_ ,” Hux pronounced dramatically. “With a real kitchen and an extremely nice bed, and extremely nice everything, in fact, and natural gravity, and, and, _plants,_ and _rain._ Do you know how hard it is to keep one’s skin properly moisturized on a starship? And a great big state-of-the-art workspace, for projects. Also, a staff. Or really good droids, maybe. Whichever are harder to subvert.”

Ren turned to look at him, expression at first dismayed and then turning hard and determined. He reached out grabbing Hux by the shoulders—stars, the man’s hands were huge—and staring him straight in the face, eyes full of drunken sincerity. “I will not accept your resignation.”

Hux blinked, taken aback. “I… had no intention of resigning. What the hells else would I do? But I get shore leave like anyone else, and in the future, when our work is complete, I intend to use it.”

“Oh,” Ren said, cheeks pinking as he gave Hux a little squeeze and then let him go. “That’s, uh. Good, then.”

“Ren,” Hux said, the words coming out slow and incredulous and perhaps, just perhaps, a little delighted. “Would you _miss me?_ ”

“No,” Ren said quickly, looking away, blushing harder. “That’s absurd.”

“No, you would!” Hux crowed, sitting up from his sprawl, waving a finger at Ren, grinning. “Look at you, you’re blushing. You’d pine away without me.”

“It’s just the alcohol,” Ren muttered. “Makes my face red.”

“It didn’t five minutes ago,” Hux pointed out. “You’re blushing because you miss me, and you’re a bad liar.”

“Kriff off,” Ren growled, clearly pouting. “I wouldn’t miss you at all. I’d have one less source of assassination attempts to think about, and I wouldn’t have someone around to argue with everything I say! Sounds ideal.”

“Oh, hush,” Hux said, standing with only a small wobble, picking up their glasses to pour them another brandy and soda—this would be their third, following two rounds of Hux’s surprisingly strong chocolate cream concoction. “That was _one time._ ”

Ren stared at him incredulously. “You had me _shot!_ ”

“Well, you didn’t die,” Hux said, shrugging. He was playing it casual, but he’d always wondered why Ren had never retaliated against him for that little attempt. The sniper, of course, had died screaming, but Ren had only said enough to make sure Hux knew he knew who was behind it.

“Only because I deflected it,” Ren groused. “That shit _hurt.”_

“Well, so does being thrown into a wall!” Hux snapped, and then clamped his lips shut on a sudden surge of anxiety, something heavy and cold that collected in his chest, made him hunch in on himself slightly. He should know better than to criticize Ren’s actions, he was the Supreme Leader, he was bigger and stronger than Hux even without his powers, he was—

“That’s why I let you get away with that little stunt. Seemed fair,” Ren said, his quiet voice cutting through Hux's increasing distress, bringing him up short.

“I…” Hux trailed off, not knowing what to say. Ren had let him get away with attempted murder because he was sorry for the way he’d treated Hux? Of all the possible reasons he’d considered, that had never been one of them. It was almost… sweet. He busied himself with ice cube distribution in order to give himself a moment to think of a response. 

But when he looked up Ren was right there, standing beside him, having crossed the room while Hux was distracted. He looked at Hux seriously, taking him by the shoulders again, but this time his hands were gentle and warm.

“I won’t ever hurt you like that again,” Ren said earnestly, his eyes searching Hux’s face as one hand came up to gently to touch Hux’s cheek. “I promise.”

Stars. _Stars,_ of all the things he’d expected to get out of this evening, this wasn’t one of them. Ren was so close, Hux could feel the warmth of his body, the shocking gentleness of Ren’s fingertips on his face. He wanted to turn and press hisface into Ren’s palm, was suddenly filled with the desire to kiss the sliver of wrist Ren’s movement had exposed. The moment stretched out as he stared into Ren’s eyes, not so much looking for the truth of his words as just looking, because Ren’s eyes were beautiful, such a warm color, like nothing else here on this godforsaken ship.

“Ren,” Hux whispered, unsure what he was even going to say. In the end, what he came up with was, “You’re drunk.”

Ren’s expression split into a smile—a _smile_ , stars—and he ducked his head as he let Hux go, suddenly bashful as he laughed softly. “Yeah, I am. It’s nice. I haven’t been drunk in years and years.”

Ren had great smile. Hux liked his crooked teeth. They weren’t terribly crooked, just a little crooked, and Hux found that he wanted to run his tongue across the backs of them. He wanted to take Ren’s pouty bottom lip between his own teeth and tug at it gently, just to see—just to _hear_ —what he’d do.

_Fuck._ Hux turned away and busied himself with stirring their drinks, cheeks coloring as he realized that he’d been staring at Ren’s mouth for the better part of ten seconds.

He handed Ren his completed drink, and they made their way back to the sitting area. This time, with a deliberate decision not to analyze his motivations, he sat down next to Ren on the sofa.

* * *

 

Half an hour later, he had come to regret that decision, or so he told himself. Ren lay draped across him, cape and jacket gone, his crimson silk shirt unbuttoned at the throat as he looked up at Hux, gesturing as he told the story of one of his early missions for Snoke, a convoluted tale that involved a spy-hunt, a crime lord droid, and and a madcap chase through a Nal Hutta red-light district.

Hux was not really paying attention to the story. His entire attention was consumed by Ren’s sheer presence, the rise and fall of his voice, the way he over-pronounced certain words and it made his mouth move too much. The shapes his hands made as he gestured, somehow awkward and fluid at the same time. The weight of him there, lying warm and heavy across Hux’s lap with his head on the armrest. How absurdly kriffing soft his hair looked, and how very much Hux wanted to touch it.

This whole thing had been a terrible idea.

Hux thought that maybe if he kissed Ren right now, Ren would let him. Hux thought that if he slid out from under Ren and then climbed on top of him, Ren would let him do that, too.

Unable to help himself, he slid a hand into Ren’s hair and kriff, it was just as soft and warm as it looked. Ren paused his story for just a moment, making a soft, pleased sound as his eyes slid shut for a moment before resuming.

Hux ran his fingers through Ren’s hair, luxuriating in its texture, nails scratching at his scalp as he felt Ren shiver with pleasure.

It didn’t mean anything, of course—Ren was drunk, really quite drunk (so was he, for that matter) and alcohol apparently made him touchy, prone to reaching out. Hux thought maybe he always wanted to, that maybe he always craved the touch of another human person but wouldn’t allow himself the indulgence. Except Hux had got him drunk, and now here he was, not just allowing but initiating all this glorious contact. It wasn’t an invitation to anything more, Hux told himself sternly, and even if it was, Hux wasn’t going to accept it. That remained an even more terrible idea than the terrible idea that was currently ongoing.

But he wanted to. Fucking _stars_ , he wanted to. He wanted to straddle Ren’s hips and kiss him until he was breathless, until he was hard and grinding up against his ass, hands on his waist pulling him down instinctively. He wanted to suck and bite at Ren’s neck, mark up his pale skin, make him hurt just a little. He thought Ren would like that.

Then he’d lead Ren to his bed—it was just right over there, only a few steps away in its little alcove, and he'd lay him out, strip him, and then he'd crawl on top and sit on his dick. It’d feel so good, that near-painful stretch, Ren’s big (he knew it was, from that incident with the trousers,) thick cock opening him up, and he’d watch Ren’s mouth fall open, see the adoration his eyes as his red mouth went slack on a soft, needy moan—

Ren, he realized belatedly, had fallen silent. He was, in fact, looking up at Hux with an expression of lazy amusement with a hint of… something else. When, Hux wondered, had his eyelashes gotten so pretty?

“You seem distracted, General,” Ren said, “I don’t think you heard a word I just said.”

“Of course I did!” Hux replied indignantly, just sort of on general principle.

“What did I say, then?”

“Um,” Hux began, truly having no idea. “Something something lightsaber, something mission, something droids?”

Ren laughed softly, and fuck, the sound of it kriffing _did_ things to him, he’d never heard this flavor of laugh before, smug and pleased with himself, with both of them. “Something on your mind?”

“No,” Hux said, but his mind felt slow and sticky, flooded with the smell of Ren and brandy, weighed down by the pressure of his laughter.

“I think there is,” Ren half-sang. “I can feel it.”

“Stay out of my head,” Hux snapped, scowling. He hated when Ren did that.

“That’s not,” Ren replied, popping the words off his lips with an inordinate amount of glee. “What I meant.”

Hux frowned down at him, brain too sluggish to understand until Ren wriggled in his lap and oh, oh _no._

“Get off me,” Hux hissed, cheeks hot as he shoved at Ren’s enormous bulk.

“Get you off, you mean?” Ren drawled, refusing to be moved, rolling his shoulders instead, shamelessly rubbing his back against Hux’s more-than-half-hard cock. _Stars._

_“Off.”_

Ren sat up, swaying, bringing a hand to his head as he made an unhappy noise, wincing at the sudden motion. Hux himself was currently forcing himself to stand up, so he could relate.

“You’re drunk, Ren. We need to get some food in you,” Hux decided, taking charge of this situation before it spiraled any further.

“Are you sure it’s food you want to get—”

“Shut _up,_ kriff. You’re so wasted you can barely sit up, Supreme Lightweight. It’s a moot point anyway, you couldn’t fuck your way out of a flimsi bag right now.”

Ren laughed, a short sharp bark of sound, genuinely amused. “Course I could, though I dunno why I’d want to. Sounds uncomfotam—uncomfortable.”

“What an unfortunate mental image,” Hux muttered, nonplussed, as he made his way unsteadily towards his kitchenette.

“You’re the one who said it,” Ren pointed out, peering at him muzzily.

Hux shrugged and opened his cabinet. He wasn’t about to wander out of his quarters in this condition, so he was limited to either ration bars or what he could prepare with an electric kettle. Fortunately, he had just the thing.

Hux got out two plastic cups of instant noodles, a galaxy-wide brand that could be found in nearly every semi-civilized world. Not exactly gourmet fare, but they were spicy, salty, filling, and generally better than rat bars in all respects for quick fuel.

As Hux rummaged around for any accoutrements he could find to make the meal more interesting, Ren lumbered over, standing behind him to peer over his shoulder as he looked in the cabinet. He pulled out a pack of quick-rehydrate mushrooms and onions and a pair of sterile-sealed boiled eggs, then straightened, accidentally bumping into Ren, who was closer behind him than he’d realized, and nearly losing his already-tenuous balance.

Ren grabbed him by the hips to steady him, those devastating hands wrapped around him, sending heat roaring through Hux’s system again as Ren made a pleased sound and pressed in close behind him, arms shifting to wrap around Hux’s waist, almost hugging him. That wasn’t the sort of thing Hux generally engaged in, but stars, it felt good. He was so warm and solid at Hux’s back, exactly the sort of thing he craved so badly sometimes (late at night, alone in bed) that it made his whole body ache.

“Was cold,” Ren said, by way of explanation.

Hux didn’t have the heart to dislodge him as he opened his various packets and cups, combining their contents as necessary, then poured the now-boiling water into the cups. He couldn't abide overcooked noodles, so he set a timer, his hands strangely unsteady as he pressed the buttons.

He gasped as Ren nuzzled the back of his neck, nosing up into his hairline, lips skimming the back of his neck, almost but not quite a kiss.

“Ren,” Hux whispered, and he didn’t know what else he was going to say, but Ren didn’t give him the chance to say it.

“Call me Kylo,” Ren breathed, his voice so quiet that it was barely audible, even though his mouth was inches from Hux’s ear.

“Kylo,” Hux whispered, and curled his hands over his, twining their fingers together as he leaned back into him. He had no idea what he was doing.

“Turn around,” Ren— _Kylo_ —whispered, backing off just slightly to give him enough room to move.

Heart in his throat, Hux turned in Ren’s arms, his hands coming to rest on Ren’s broad, broad shoulders. Their eyes met, and Hux’s breath left him all in a rush, stolen by a sudden surge of lust mixed with some feeling in his chest that he couldn’t identify.

He reached up, cupping the side of Ren’s face in one hand, and it was almost like before, like the shaving incident that was only hours ago but seemed like a lifetime, but it wasn’t like that at all because Kylo was turning, turning his face into Hux’s caress and oh stars, kissing his palm, his lips were soft and gentle and he kissed closed mouthed, but then _again_ , a little more firmly, so that Hux felt the tiniest drag of the damp insides of his lips against skin that he almost never bared to anyone. He heard himself exhale, his breath shaky.

“Kylo,” Hux whispered again, his whole body alight, yearning. He licked his lips and found that they ached for Ren’s.

Ren looked at him as Hux shifted his hand away, sliding it into Kylo’s hair and back, cupping the back of his skull. Ren’s eyes dropped to his mouth and he swayed forward just the tiniest bit, and Hux couldn’t help moving to meet him, what was he doing, his eyes were closing, and his head tipping sideways just slightly, drawing closer--

A loud, obnoxious beeping split the air of his hushed quarters and they jumped apart, startled, guilty.

It was the timer for the noodles.

Hux shut it off, his heart beating wildly, from the shock, and from Ren. From _Kylo._

“I—” Hux began, but he had to break off and clear his throat. “We should eat these noodles. They aren’t as good if you let them sit.”

“Yeah,” Ren said hollowly, looking down and away, his hair half falling over his face like a shield. Shielding what, Hux didn’t quite know. “Yeah, okay.”

They ate their noodles in near-silence. Hux tried to recapture their easy conversation from earlier, but his questions and comments were met only with near-monosyllabic responses from Ren, who refused to meet his eyes.

When they were finished, Ren stood abruptly, finally, _finally,_ turning his gaze to Hux, who stood also, because that was what one did. But hells, Ren’s eyes were too bright, too shiny, and he he looked like he had the inside of his cheek between his teeth. Hux stared at him, frozen with alarm. Ren looked like he was trying not to cry.

“Ren—Kylo, I—” Hux began, no idea what to say but knowing he had to say something.

“I’m tired,” Kylo cut him off, his voice rough. “I’m going to bed. Thank you for your hospitality, General.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode towards the door, grabbing his cape and throwing it over his shoulder. As if he couldn’t quite help himself, he didn’t hit the door control, just raised a hand as he walked towards it and ripped the door open with the Force without so much as slowing as he swept out of the room.

Hux stared after him, completely gobsmacked. The door made an unhappy grinding sound as it closed, clearly half-broken by Ren’s abrupt departure.

_Well, fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! Hopefully it won't be quite so long between updates in the future!


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